General Discussions

There once was a man named Suehe loved to wear a tue-tuebut then a dragon came along, took Sue's thongnow he has to go poo-poo

Adventures are funny things.They may creep out of holes, appear down a seldom trodden path, fall out of a tree, or even arrive in an envelope, but they always start the same way.Adventures always begin with the unexpected. . .

tiresome the day to a requiemwe debate the thread and maskas emotion divides the roomwar illuminates and dilutesthe eyes of young and oldperhaps negate the day of ghostand leave the wolf to prowlas we all laugh and laughand smile and laugh and cryto follow blind the warmthof company of which to coloura copy of a copy of a copyof a truth long lost in ageas i retire to self-obsessioncamouflage to surrounding primaryas the gold reveils itself the table is full of truth.and my mouth is full of lies

tiresome the day to a requiemwe debate the thread and maskas emotion divides the roomwar illuminates and dilutesthe eyes of young and oldperhaps negate the day of ghostand leave the wolf to prowlas we all laugh and laughand smile and laugh and cryto follow blind the warmthof company of which to coloura copy of a copy of a copyof a truth long lost in ageas i retire to self-obsessioncamouflage to surrounding primaryas the gold reveils itself the table is full of truth.and my mouth is full of lies

I was once somewhat of a poet.But I no longer am able to really put to paperthe words that are in my head or heart.I searched for the words i wrote,when i still could.But i was left with only my darkest thoughtsMy journals and notebooks,Filled not with my happiness,but with my pain.The poems i found were about the darkness,That lived deep in my mind.And spoke of My fascination with my own demise.

Man's enemies are not demons, but human beings like himself

Nature is not human hearted

Knowing others is intelligence;knowing yourself is true wisdom.Mastering others is strength; mastering yourself is true power

I was once somewhat of a poet.But I no longer am able to really put to paperthe words that are in my head or heart.I searched for the words i wrote,when i still could.But i was left with only my darkest thoughtsMy journals and notebooks,Filled not with my happiness,but with my pain.The poems i found were about the darkness,That lived deep in my mind.And spoke of My fascination with my own demise.